


it comes and it goes

by otabek



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Coach!Yuuri, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Role Reversal, Student!Viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otabek/pseuds/otabek
Summary: Everyone has their off days. Viktor is no exception.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [Em](https://twitter.com/narootos).  
> Disclaimer: This AU belongs to Em and [Ash](https://twitter.com/wbtrashking).  
> Inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/narootos/status/832786214541352960) lovely artwork.

It starts in the morning when Yuuri wakes to the shrill cry of his alarm and an empty bed rather than Viktor’s cold toes pressed to his legs and a hushed “Time to wake up, my Yuuri” in his ear.

Normally, the quiet of early hours is punctuated with sloppy kisses and hushed laughter, and it falls on Yuuri to be the one to break away and pull a playfully resistant Viktor out from under the sheets. So this particular morning leaves him equal parts confused and curious.

He reaches over to grab his glasses from the bedside table and silence the alarm before kicking away the sheets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed frame. It’s cold, and Yuuri quickly ushers his toes into the soft fleece of his slippers.

Yuuri is always the one to make the bed, so it comes as a surprise to see the blanket on Viktor’s side folded neatly and tucked beneath the mattress precisely the way Yuuri had taught him. A flurry of concern tickles the back of his neck as he pads down the hall.

The crackle of TV static reaches his ears before he even enters the living room and a wave of understanding settles over his shoulders. He peeks around the corner and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

Viktor sits at the kotatsu with his eyes glued to the TV and hands wrapped tightly around a clay mug. The soft treble of piano keys drifts out from the built-in speakers, and Yuuri recognizes it immediately as his exhibition piece from one year prior; his last GPF before retiring from competitive skating to become Viktor’s coach.

When eventually Yuuri moves to join Viktor at the kotatsu, blue eyes widen and flicker up to him before darting back to the TV screen. Yuuri knows not to speak, simply settling himself down on Viktor’s right and running a hand through Makkachin’s overgrown fur. He’s always hated watching himself skate, but he supposes he doesn’t mind bearing with it for now. He never minds, not with Viktor.

They sit like this for a while; not speaking, not touching, just breathing and allowing their eyes to follow the brilliant gleam of Yuuri’s skates as they carve icy ribbons into the surface of the rink.

When it’s over, the TV fades to black and the ensuing silence is layered with faint white noise from the color-blocked monitor and the occasional trill of passing bicycle bells.

“You want breakfast?”

Yuuri doesn’t miss the way Viktor bites his lip before shaking his head.

“No. Not hungry.”

“Okay.”

Yuuri doesn’t push.

The next hour or so is spent shoving spare socks and clean towels into skating bags, scouring the bottoms of drawers for extra sweatpants, and trying to find Makkachin’s missing snow boot. The accompanying silence is deafening, but Yuuri knows better than to try and break it.

For Yuuri, days like these aren’t entirely unfamiliar. He is well-acquainted with the suffocating downswings of bad days, feeling like the weight of the sky rests upon his shoulders, feeling as though nothing is going quite right and that nothing ever will.

It had simply never occurred to him that Viktor -- dazzling, radiant, beautiful Viktor -- could have those days too.

 

+

 

It continues into the early afternoon when, after a particularly bad fall, Viktor simply sits on the ice instead of determinedly picking himself back up the way he normally would.

“Viktor!” Yuuri calls his name softly but urgently as he pushes off from the ice and hurries to his student’s side. “Are you hurt?”

He expects Viktor to joke, to wink, to laugh it off and wave away Yuuri’s concerned fussing. Instead, Viktor unties the messy knot at the top of his head, allowing his moonlit hair to cascade down his back, before sprawling out on the cold surface of the rink and staring serenely up at the ceiling.

Yuuri doesn’t skip a single beat. He wordlessly joins Viktor, ignoring the stray flecks of ice that somehow meander their way underneath the cowl of his turtleneck. He has every intention of lying there for however long it takes.

But then Viktor is taking Yuuri’s hand in his and squeezing gently, and only then does Yuuri release the breath he feels like he’s been holding in since the moment he woke up to a cold and empty bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

And Yuuri understands.

If there’s one thing he’s learned in all his twenty-some years, it’s that sometimes, words simply aren’t enough. And that’s why he coaxes Viktor onto his side and envelops him in a hug, cradling his head with the utmost care.

 _I may be horrible at explaining the logistics of a quad flip_ , Yuuri thinks to himself, _but I can do at least this much as Viktor’s coach_.

They lie there for some time, clutching each other, swaddled in the low hum of the rink’s generator and the way the light catches on grooves in the ice.

It takes Yuuri a moment to notice the sniffling, and when he pulls back, his eyes track the paths of tears that roll down Viktor’s flushed cheeks in glittering tendrils. It’s impossible for Yuuri not to stare at the wet pearls that cling to Viktor’s lashes, and he thinks it’s thoroughly unfair that anyone is capable of being this breathtaking when they cry.

He hears Viktor apologizing, hears him admit he’s been moody all day and he doesn’t know why and he’s so unbelievably sorry.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Yuuri insists quietly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Viktor’s. His right hand finds its home on Viktor’s cheek, thumb caressing gently and with a reverence. “We all have bad days.”

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

Viktor hums, just a wet gurgle in the back of his throat.

“Yuuri, I’m glad you’re my coach.”

“Oh?”

Yuuri’s heart nearly bursts when he notices the clouds finally clear behind Viktor’s eyes, and he thinks Viktor is most beautiful like this: smiling, vulnerable, and safe in his arms.

“Yakov wouldn’t be caught dead cuddling one of his students on the ice.”

Yuuri laughs and laughs and laughs at that, reveling in the way Viktor’s laughter mingles with his. The sound is reminiscent of wind chimes and he’s not sure he’s heard anything quite as lovely.

 _Wow_ , he muses to himself later as he watches Viktor drift to sleep in their bed, combing his fingers through the silvery tresses of his hair.

_I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone more._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love kudos and comments and katsudon.  
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/lovechiId).


End file.
